Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I almost didn’t tell you about this.

But I knew you, my dear, faithful readers, would understand.
Because you know me.  You know my kids.
And you can completely understand how it is entirely possible to end up in the Emergency Room. Twice.  In.  One.  Week. (Actually, about 5 days, but who’s counting?)
Oh, I wish I was kidding.  I thought about not sharing this because, you know, you might think I was serious about the name of my blog.
I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think we really are THAT family.
But. We. Are.
We met my parents for dinner at one of our local favorites.  We cleaned our plates and let the baby join the other kids in the game room area.  She was having a ball, sticking her hands in the gum ball machines and eating off the floor.
She sauntered back over to our table, crawled up on the picnic table seat and with all four adults watching, she slipped through the space between the bench and the table and landed head-first on the concrete.
The hit made a sickening sound.
I jumped to grab her and smeared ketchup all over my hands.  So, when I picked her up, my family thought she was bleeding.
And it probably would have been more of a relief to see a small gash.
Nope.  Nothing.  
Only a pale, screaming child, who began vomiting from her head injury.
I’m so not kidding.
And she couldn’t walk.  We let her stumble around for about 12 seconds and decided an ER visit was for dessert.
My parents took my older kids home and the hubby and I sped to the hospital.
They rushed us back to triage to check her pupils and look her over.
The nurse recognized me.  From my visit on Father’s Day.
So did the Doctor.
By this time, our toddler was acting more herself (as in dumping the contents of my purse onto the floor).  
As the Doctor tried to decide whether or not to sedate her for a CT scan, the nurse commented on our frequent visits.
And so I said, “Yeah, we’re like THAT family.”
I thought my hubby was going to choke on his own saliva.  Later he said, “My word, why didn’t you just pull out your laptop and see if the ER had WiFi, so they could read today’s entry!”
I told him I couldn’t help myself.
They gave our toddler a bag of cookies and  cup of apple juice to see if she would continue throwing up. 
She didn’t and she enjoyed the snack.
They sent us home with stern instructions to wake her up every few hours all night long and return if she vomited or her stumbling grew worse.
We signed off on all the papers they shoved in our face as the discharge nurse called, “See you in a couple of days for stitches.”
That’s verbatim, people.
And the receptionist encouraged us just to ‘come for coffee next time if we really wanted to see them.’
Yeah, we’re pretty much gonna have to move.  To another town.  Immediately.
*Update* Our toddler showed no further signs of a concussion and after we berated ourselves for our negligence, we all slept happily ever after. The End.  Until the next time…

A World Without Purpose

A high school in a small Massachusetts’s town had 17 pregnant girls at the end of the school year.

Seventeen.

Apparently, these girls made a pact to get pregnant on purpose.  The majority of them are 16 years old or younger.

You can read the article here.  Here is an excerpt:

“Time magazine reporter Kathleen Kingsbury, who wrote the story, said the seaside city has experienced a lot of economic hardship and seems to have many young people without direction.


“They didn’t have anyone really instructing them on how to create a life plan,” she told CBC Newsworld by telephone.

“Some of them decided that this was going to be their life plan, that they were going to be mothers, and by being mothers, they would be someone.”

This is so disturbing to me. 

Let’s show our kids, by example, that our lives have purpose and direction because we follow Him.

Be purposeful.

Food for the Soul:

Psalm 33:11, “But the plans of the LORD stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations.”

Is That Bad?

A friend and I stopped by Chick Fil A the other day.  I needed a sweet tea.


“Uh, yes, I need a large sweet tea,” I said to the drive-thru speaker.  “Want anything?” I whispered to my friend.  She shook her head no.


“Okay, Kristen.  That’s $1.67,” the speaker answered.


As I pulled around, I could feel my friend staring at me.


“What?”  I asked.  


“That lady, in the speaker, she KNEW YOUR NAME!” she said in disbelief.


“Oh, that.  Yeah, I come here.  A lot.  It’s funny, she recognizes my voice now and . . .” my words trailed off.  

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Because she was really staring now.  Intensely.


“What? Oh, is that bad?”


Obviously it never dawned on me that it wasn’t normal for fast food restaurants to recognize you BEFORE they see you.  


This opened up a whole new dimension of thinking.  Hmmm, I wonder how many things I do that aren’t normal for other people.


Wow.  That’s deep.


I’m a little worried now.  Can you help me decide if these things are bad?


Besides knowing my name and debit card number, the Chick Fil A lady frequently comments on how easy it is to make sweet tea at home and how fattening it is.  


I still go back.  Almost daily.  Is that bad?


My baby’s second and third words were ‘chicken nugget?’ Is that bad?


My one year old got into the pantry the other day while I was in cyberspace.  She dumped out a bag of tiny marshmallows.  She shoveled them in her mouth.  I let her.  Is that bad?


I love Carmel Delights made by the lovely Girl Scouts.  The other day, my daughter asked if there were any left.  “No,” I replied quickly.  No, because I’m hiding the last two to eat later.  When I’m alone.  Is that bad?


I do not enjoy unloading the dishwasher.  Every once in a while, when I feel overwhelmed, I pretend they are still dirty and wash them again.  Is that bad?


On a full moon, sometimes I innocently hand the baby to my hubby, KNOWING she’s stinky.  Is that bad?


I love cupcakes.  


More than some people.


Is that bad?


Sometimes I go to Target.  Okay, I go 4.5 times a week.  When I wear red, my kids wonder if I work there.  Is that bad?


Occasionally, I slip a tabloid into my cart at the store and then hide it when church people come over.  Is that bad?


When I REALLY need a break, I leave my 8 year old to watch my other kids and go to the movies—


Shoot.  I KNOW that’s bad.  Just making sure you’re still reading! And I’m completely kidding!


Since I’m starting to see faults in my moral compass, I’ll leave it with just one more . . .


I have been known to hurt people for chocolate. Is that bad?


This was originally posted in February 2008


DIYP #4- An Instant Vase

I love magazines.  I always have a giant pile next to my bed that I’m making my way through.
Some of my best DIY projects are things I’ve seen in decor magazines.  I tear out my favorite pages and stick it into a folder for inspiration later.
And you’ve been wondering who tore out magazine pages in the dentist’s office? 
[sheepish wave in progress]
I saw this idea in the latest Better Homes & Gardens “100 Decorating Ideas for Under $100″ Issue.
It’s by far one of my favorite quarterly publications.  
I love fresh flowers.  I wish I could have a gorgeous vase full in every room.  All the time.
But I’m not THAT family, unfortunately. 
Every once in a while, my hubby brings home flowers.  *Hint, Hint*
And after holidays, like Valentine’s and Mother’s Day, I buy the half price bundles.  But most of my fresh flowers come from my flower beds or when my kids bring me weeds flowers with the stems wrapped in wet paper towels.
Now, here’s what I do with them thanks to this great idea: I gather an empty toothbrush holder, a salt shaker or a cheese sprinkler.  
I can stick loose stems in the tiny holes.  These are perfect holders for little weeds or the fragrant Gardenias from my yard.
I just fell in love with this idea because I have these little containers on hand and they look so nice in the bathrooms and entryway.
So, go, pick a flower and grab an instant vase.
It’s sure to brighten your day!

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Mr. Fly,

In an effort to explain my children’s recent behavior, I must start at the beginning.
A week ago, my family drove 40 minutes to the Ikea mega store.  We only go a few times a year, so I’m sure you can imagine my shopping excitement.  But as soon as we arrived, my sweet son became ill.  My hubby, who understands my deep-seeded shopping issues, encouraged me to make a quick run through the store with the other children, while he tended our son.
Well.  That was a lot of pressure.  With such a limited window of time, I hurried through the enormous store and grabbed a few items from the $1.99 bins.  And that’s when I discovered this:
I didn’t travel all that way in order to buy a fly swatter.  But it was pink.  And it was a $1.99. And it was a twin pack.  No further explanation needed.
Once I got home, I put away my new packages of napkins and paper plates and the $.99 tote bags.  (Of course, I threw away the one my son puked in on the way home.  I’m not that frugal). I stuck the fly swatters on top of the ‘fridge.
Even though it’s terribly hot here, I like to pretend there is a breeze and open my back door so I can keep an eye on my kids playing in the backyard.  Some of your friends take the opportunity to make themselves at home.
Now, I’m not a calloused person.  I care for God’s creatures. While you’re not my favorite, I don’t want to kill you.  But unfortunately, every time you land on something in my home, my kids scream, “Poop!  Every time a fly lands, he poops!” Sometimes they throw the word, “vomit” in there, too.
 
Well.  Since we’re up to our ears in poop & vomit most days, I couldn’t exactly encourage this.
So, I gave my kids each a pink fly swatter and taught them how to use it.  
Not my finest parenting moment.
But I would like to apologize, Mr. Fly, because I got busy cooking dinner and I eventually noticed my children were missing. 
I was shocked to discover them in the back yard.
With the swatters.
They killed your cousin and your aunt and probably, your grandpa.  
I even heard my daughter say, “Die, fly.  I don’t even care if you have a family.”
She was rebuked and the swatters were taken away.
I hope you can forgive us.
Yours truly,
THAT family